


People of the World

by HarlequinWantsToWrite



Category: The Rook (TV 2019)
Genre: 90s Pop Music, Angst, Childhood, Family, Friendship, Gen, Growing Up, Humor, Love, OC, The 90s, The Spice Girls
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2020-10-05 09:23:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20486567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HarlequinWantsToWrite/pseuds/HarlequinWantsToWrite
Summary: A story that spans nearly a decade. A story about friendship, family, and the strange things that bring people together.Ingrid and her brother, Charlie, are EVAs who have spent their entire life on the run from vultures and tracers. They've survived by using their powers and wits, hiding in plain sight and running small cons to support themselves. But their luck may have just run out...Gestalt has always felt alone in the world, and their training at Glengrove is determined to isolate them even more. "Blend in to the crowd, no one can ever truly know you outside of us." But Gestalt is certain they can't be the only HiveMind in the world. There's no such thing as a unique EVA, is there?Warning: this fic is full of angst and mid-to-late 90s nostalgia. People of the World, Spice up Your Life!





	1. Prologue

**Prologue **

**Year: 2019 (Ingrid Woodhouse)**

Today would have been Charlie's 40th birthday. _Oh, the big 4-0, big bro_, Ingrid thought wistfully, looking at the photograph on her desk. He hadn't even made it to twenty-five. The face that smiled back at her was frozen in time, joyous and wise beyond his years. He'd had to grow up too soon. Charlie was only 6 years older than her, but he'd had to take care of her. They took care of each other, really. They were the only family they'd got. Ingrid used her ring finger to gently tap away a tear that dared threaten her mascara.

"Not today, you watery bastards," she chided her own eyes, "I'll not have you blubbering. Happy memories only."

Ingrid straighted the frame on her desk, and got back to work. There was a slight tapping on the door, and Ingrid looked up to see Alex Gestalt hanging halfway in her door.

"Hey, Ing-" Alex grinned, "We still on for tonight, right?"

"Of course, Gestalt. I haven't forgotten." Ingrid gave them a withering look.

"Do ya have the wigs?"

"Really?" Ingrid scoffed. "Who do you think you are talking to? Forgot the-" she grabbed the nearest soft object, today it was a Mars bar Myfanwy had brought her as a treat, and chucked it at the door. Alex laughed and ducked for cover.

"Alright," he put his hands up in surrender, "I'm just checkin'. It just don't work with a set of 5 blondes, you know that as well as I do."

Ingrid rolled her eyes. Gestalt. Always so commited to the "aesthetic."

"Get out, Gestalt. I have work to do."

"Alright." Alex smiled that crooked, soft smile of his, "See you later, Ing. For Charlie."

Ingrid smiled back and nodded.

"For Charlie."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you love The Rook, please sign the petition for a second season here: https://www.change.org/p/therookstarz-season-2-for-the-rook


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's 1994. Ingrid and Charlie have been captured by Vultures.

**Year: 1994 (Charlie Woodhouse)**

"Lot number 4: Technologica," the man sitting across from Charlie typed onto the keyboard with a detached efficiency. "EVA level 6, capable of most remarkable manipulation of electronic and digital systems of any kind. This EVA would make a fantastic asset for your most complicated hacking activities, either legal or illicit. And at only 15 years old, this asset has a long career ahead of him, with potentially exponential resell value in the future, once you've gotten your use out of him. We'll start the bidding at 11 million."

Only moments before, Charlie had been herded from the holding cell where he, his sister, Ingrid, and a handful of other EVAs were being kept (sedated, of course), into a small room to be auctioned off. Charlie's hands were shackled and cuffed to a steel table, but they need not bother; he'd never leave without Ingrid. Charlie looked around, familiarizing himself with his surroundings. A small, square room with a mirror, likely two-way (Charlie could sense a cell phone on the other side. _Huh, these folks must be fancy_). Metal table, metal chairs. One guard at the door. One man with a computer and webcam, basic LAN connection. His EVA made every word typed ring as loud in his mind as if it were spoken. He was bringing in a rather nice price. China was winning.

This wasn't the worst situation Charlie and Ingrid had ever escaped; they were lucky that their powers had both developed early and worked quite well together. Ingrid could read a room like nobody's business, and she moved like the wind. Tiny as she was, all Charlie had to do was say Boo and she was gone and hid away somewhere no one would ever think to find her. And Charlie could make any machine do anything he wanted. The two of them survived by grifting, and if trouble ever found them, they managed to find their way out of it just as fast. But this time, they hadn't been fast enough. Fucking Vultures.

Now, how to get out of this particular mess.

Best Case Scenario: They were sold to the same bidder and could escape on the road. Easy peasy.

Worst Case Scenario: Ingrid got antsy and moved too soon. She was only 9, and these people had big guns. If they kept them separated for too long, she might panic and do something stupid. Charlie really hoped she didn't do anything stupid.

The man across from him was a right smarmy looking arsehole: grey three piece suit, perfectly parted hair, sallow skin the likes of which hadn't seen the sun for days, and fine, wire-rim glasses perched on a long, elegant nose. _This piece o' shit looks at Ing the way he's lookin' at me_, Charlie thought, _he'll be lucky if she don't break his perfect nose, cuffs or no_.

"Sold for 30 million," he said haughtily, out loud as well as typing. He switched off the webcam as he nodded to the man at the door. "A fine enough price. Gregor, bring in the next."

The burly guard at the door hit the safety on his rifle and slung it over his shoulder. He shuffled over to Charlie and removed the small key he wore around his neck. He unfastened the small clip holding his shackles to the floor, then the table. Grasping Charlie roughly by the arm, he helped hoist him up, and the two made their way back to the original holding room.

Ingrid was pacing frantically behind the bars, her long, dark blonde hair flopping madly back and forth in a ponytail. She was wearing a purple windbreaker with an adorable "sunshine funshine bear" patch on it that Charlie'd found for her in a Lost and Found box he'd riffled through at a church. Her (too small) white trainers squeaked against the concrete floor of the cage, and she looked a ball of pure rage: all 4 foot nothing of her. When she saw him, relief broke out over her face.

"Oi, you, guard!" She screamed, "Bout time you got back with me brother! What took you so long. I know he's pretty, but that don't mean you get to keep 'im on display!"

"Hey, Ing," Charlie laughed, "I told you I'd be back. No worries. Oi, Watch it!" He added as the guard roughly shoved him back into the cell.

"Your turn, Sunshine," the guard said, grabbing for Ingrid. She made to fight, but Charlie shook his head at her.

_Don't._ He hoped she understood. They would have time to talk later, with less eyes and ears on them._ Not the right time. Not now. Not yet._

Ingrid put her hands up in mock surrender and walked ahead of the guard, but that Woodhouse swagger was still there. Charlie had taught her so many lessons about survival and sticking together no matter what. _He really should have thrown in a few more about humility and knowing when to quit while you were ahead_, he thought. But Ing would be alright. She was a little kid, and a "valuable asset," at that. They wouldn't do anything to hurt her, surely.

It seemed like an eternity before the guard brought Ingrid back into the holding cell. Charlie had strained his powers as far as he could, trying to reach through every cable in vicinity to connect to one in the room with Ingrid so he could see or hear what was going on, but he had no luck. He was blind in here. When the guard finally returned with Ingrid, her small, round face looked pale and drawn. Her hair was falling out of her ponytail, pieces lying limp and in her face. Charlie felt himself moving so fast, he was sure he must have practically levitated to the bars of the cell.

"Ingrid! Ing-" he shouted, "what's wrong? What's wrong with her?" He glared at the guard. "What have you done to my sister? I swear to god-"

"Nothing," the guard said bluntly, unlocking the door and shoving her back in.

Charlie caught Ingrid. She felt oddly limp and docile.

"Just had to give her a few extra doses of sedative. Bitch tried to break Prescott's nose."

"Ah, Fuck, Ing." Charlie sighed. "Well, can I get a cold cloth, or juice? Water? Anything?" He implored.

The guard just ignored him and grabbed the next EVA on the docket. Ingrid looked up at him, her brown eyes strange and sad.

"He," she rasped, "He said... 100 million. I sold for 100 million. He said... congratulations. You and your brother are going to opposite sides of the world. Never see each other again."

"Oh, Ing," Charlie said, pushing her hair back out of her face, "I ain't never gonna let that happen."

He wouldn't. Like hell he would. They'd make it out of this okay. They'd make it out of this together. They always did.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________

**(Ingrid Woodhouse)**

At some point during the evening, the sale had ended, and all the EVAs were rounded back up and bundled up, all snug as a bug in a rug in their beds. _Yeah. Sure. Drugged out of their gourds, more like_. Ingrid had already had a heady dose of whatever the stuff was early in the day, when she made to make Sir Poncy "I just smelled a Fart" face regret laying hands on her.

"Just let me pinch your cheeks for color, Now smile like Shirley Temple,"_ Oh, I'll give you somethin' to smile about, Fart-Face. How's about a nice fat lip? Pinch my cheeks? Disgusting_. Ingrid should have kept her temper better. Charlie had given her the signal. No. Wait. Hold Off. But these bloody vultures didn't stand a chance against Ingrid and her big bro. Well, so long as they laid off the loopy juice. Ugh. Her mouth was like cotton, and her head was all fuzzy.

Ingrid shucked the blankets off and looked around the dark cell.

"Char?" She called softly.

"Shh!" Came back a stern admonishment from a female voice nearby. Ingrid tried her hardest to remember anything about the last couple of hours; how much time had passed since the last time she remembered seeing Charlie. She didn't even remember being brought into this room, let alone how much time had passed.

"Is my brother here?" she whispered to the woman next to her, "how long 'ave we been here? What day is it? What time?"

"Shut it, ya brat," The woman said, firmly, "Before they hear ya and come back here."

_Well, that's just bloody great. Real bloody peach, you are, real pal_. Ingrid sat up and let her eyes adjust to the darkness. It didn't take long. She didn't have heightened senses in *that* way, her perception was more in spotting flaws and tells, rapid reflexes in every sense of the word. Her ability to defend herself was unparalleled. But she was still 9 years old, so a group of armed men coming at her from all sides wielding long jabby sticks full of sedative... or worse yet, aerosolized sedative... only so much she could do. Still... give her long enough, she could find her way out of here and to Charlie.

_A latch, a latch, there's got to be a latch_. Ingrid scanned every inch that wasn't blocked by lumpy forms under scratchy green blankets. Really, they might have been drugged, but surely some sort of survival instinct would have kicked in by now. Some urge to escape. Ingrid could just barely make out a padlock on a door opposite from her. Low Tech. Perfect. She plucked one of the bobby pins tucked in her hair free and wiggled her way over to the door. Licking her lips, she began working on the lock. _Sorry, Charlie_, Ingrid thought. _I know you'd want me to wait for you, but you ain't here_.

___________________________________________________________________________________________

**(Charlie Woodhouse)**

Somewhere on the other side of the compound, Charlie was cursing the vultures for separating him from his sister. Again. He had to find a computer; a security camera; anything wired into the system that he could use to locate her. In the meantime, _I swear to Christ, Ingrid, if you do something stupid, I will... take you to the barber and get you one of those awful mushroom haircuts. Because we are definitely getting out of this, but you will so regret doing something stupid, and for a long time, at that. I might even spring for photos._

The good thing about vultures was, while the didn't scrimp on things like security, or guards, or guns, they did tend to have their auctions at private residences and fancy hotels and actual museums and auction houses. Pretentious bastards. So, this place wasn't exactly a fortress. From what Charlie could tell, they were in some sort of art museum that was closed for renovations. They had originally been down on basement level, where painting restorations would normally take place, but at some point all the EVAs had been drugged and separated. Possibly for easier transport in the morning.

Charlie was still on one of the lower levels. Christ, this place is big, at least 7 floors. He took a moment take in the full scope of the museum before proceeding. If he'd been there as a tourist, the museum would have been a sight to take in; each floor connected by a glass bridge, creating a beautiful, unobstructed view of the art. It was terribly inconvenient for avoiding guards, though. Charlie made note to stay far away from it, and hoped if Ingrid managed to get away from wherever she was, that she stayed away from it as well. They'd be sitting ducks out there.

A place like this had to have security cameras, though. Charlie moved as quickly as he could, scanning the floors for any hint of a door that read "Security." He had to move fast, before anyone realized he was missing.

_______________________________________________________________________________________

**(Ingrid Woodhouse)**

When Ingrid made it out of the room she and the others were locked in, she found herself in a small maze of portraits covered in oil cloth._ Creepy_. She had to take off her shoes so she didn't squeak on the marble floors. _As soon as we're out of here_, she thought, _we're going to have to get me a new pair of trainers_. She thought for a moment about what to do with her shoes, but they didn't fit right anyway, so she tucked them just under one of the sheets of oil cloth. _Eh, room's dark, that's hid well enough_.

Ingrid made her way slowly, her socks slipping slightly against the marble floors. The small room she was in opened up into a much larger one, with a grand glass ceiling that arched upward in a dome above her head. Dozens of twinkles stars glowed above her in the night sky.

"Woah," Ingrid couldn't help but say aloud. It was beautiful. The moonlight streamed through the large skylight, glittering off an equally beautiful glass bridge that spread out beneath her like a giant arching rainbow, connecting the floors of the museum. It took her breathe away. _This place looks like it could be part of the My Little Pony Paradise Estate_, Ingrid thought, remembering the bits of video she'd glimpsed through shop windows... begging Charlie to "borrow" a VHS tape, find a place to squirrel away with a tv and a player so she could watch it. "Not worth the risk, Ing," he'd said. "Maybe if we happen on it, but only if, not just 'cause."

Well, whatever this place was, she was on the top floor. If Charlie'd gotten free, maybe if she could inch near that glass bridge, she could catch a glimpse of him, wherever he was, and make her way to him. She just needed to find a good place where she could get to a hiding spot quick if she saw anyone else first.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________

**(Charlie Woodhouse)**

Charlie had finally located the security room. It was cleverly hidden behind a paneled wall, but he'd felt the hum of the video display units. There was only one "guard" on duty, a man who seemed so secure in his position that he had fallen asleep on the job. _Well, that is extremely fortunate_, Charlie thought as he locked his arm around the guard in a choke hold, ensuring he would not be waking up any time soon. He could clearly see Ingrid "sneaking" around on one of the top floors of the facility.

"Wow, real subtle, sis," he said, rolling his eyes. She hadn't even taken off her bright purple jacket. It was dark, but not that dark. The thing had a fucking gigantic sunshine yellow teddy bear on it. _She's 9 years old,_ _Charlie,_ he reminded himself. She was good for her age, but still. It wasn't like they were on the run by choice. If he had it his way, she'd be sat up in some fancy house, with proper Sunday dinners and shoes that always fit right, and a mum and dad that loved her. But they were what they were, and he did the best he could.

Charlie made a few quick redirects to the system alarms and looked to see if there were any gates or remote doors that could be unlocked, all the while trying to assess exactly where Ingrid was and where she was headed. When he realized what she was doing...

"Ah, fuck no, Ing," he groaned, "Not the bloody glass bridge, you idiot."

_9 years old, she's 9 years old, Charlie._

He watched her as she maneuvered a fake hydrangea, of all things, right up to the edge where the bridge met the top floor and wedged herself in for camouflage.

"Well, I mean, I guess it does have purple flowers," Charlie shrugged, "and it is a good little crows nest to watch for me. But still... visible as all hell, Ingrid."

He made a quick note of where all the guards were, looked to be 2 patrolling each floor, grabbed the walkie-talkie and access key off the security room guard, and heading out. It was going to be a trick, making it from the third floor to the seventh without being spotted, but he didn't want Ingrid to try to make a runner for it on her own.

"Hold tight, Ing. I'm coming."

______________________________________________________________________________________________

**(Ingrid Woodhouse**)

Ingrid was huddled in tight against the fake potted plant, scanning the floors one by one for any sign of movement. She had seen a few black-clad figures, so she knew there were guards on rotation. This was going to be a trick. Ugh, these fake leaves tickled. How long should she wait to move? Thankfully, she didn't have to wait too long for an answer. She saw a stocky boy with dirty blond hair tuck himself tight up against a silver trash bin at the base of the glass bridge several floors down.

Charlie glanced up at her and they made eye contact. Ingrid sighed in relief. He smiled reassuringly at her and held up a flat palm. _Wait_. He put out one finger and pointed it at himself, then her, then cut it across sideways and went up in levels, 1-2-3-4-5._ There are 5 floors between us_. He then paused and held up two fingers, made a fist, then made a single finger slice again._ Two guards per level_. One flat hand again, then a finger pointed to himself, and a finger pointed to her. _Wait. I am coming to you._

_Well, that just doesn't make any sense_, Ingrid thought. Out is down, and down is easier, I have the better line of sight. She used both hands to signal _No you bloody idiot, you don't always get to be in charge,_ but Charlie had already gone. _Well, that trash bin was terrible cover, anyway_.

_Fine_, Ingrid thought. _I'll stay where I am. Not like I have anything else better to do._

_________________________________________________________________________________________________

**(Charlie Woodhouse)**

Charlie made his way to a small service stairwell he'd seen on the security cameras. It was well hidden, like the security room had been, so it wasn't being patrolled like the main halls. He was moving as quickly and quietly as he could, avoiding the two guards on his floor. Charlie had almost made it to the door, when two things happened that made his blood run cold:

There was the loud, crashing sound of paintings being knocked over coming from above, shortly followed by static and the click of the walkie-talkie.

"Damn it, Jameson, what the hell was that?"

"It came from my floor, Williams, I'll go check."

"It was me, Donnelly. I was coming back from takin' a bathroom break and tripped on something. It's... It's little girls shoes? Shit. We've got an escaped one."

_No No No No No No No, What do I do now_? Charlie thought, panic rising along with bile in his throat. _Ingrid, you took off your shoes? Really?_

"First two floors, block the exits. Everyone else on the lower floors, one to the base of the bridge, one to the service stairs and make your way up. She can't have been gone long."

_Oh, Shit_. Charlie was about to have at least one guard headed his way, if not more, but Ingrid was sitting up there, blind. He had to make a decision, and he had to do it fast.

_Distraction, distraction, I need a distraction._

_Oh, Charlie, you genius, the walkie's._

"Ah, Jameson," Charlie said, forcing the walkie to mimic the earlier voice, "I think I saw her on the 3rd floor, by the security closet."

"Really, Williams? What are you doing down there?"

"Oh, just saw her running that way from the bridge. These EVAs, you know. That's where I would head, though."

"That's not me. We've got another one loose, just got the report in. It's the other one's brother."

_Fuckin' Hell._ Charlie chucked the radio. The time for subtlety was over. If anyone was going to be a sitting duck, it was him. He'd do anything for Ingrid.

"Ingrid!" Charlie screamed, making a run for that great big bloody bridge. "They know we's out! Run!"

You want an EVA for target practice? Here I am. _Run, Ingrid. Run and forget all about me. Don't you dare look back._

_____________________________________________________________________________________

**(Ingrid Woodhouse)**

Well, that went tits up in a hurry. She didn't want to say "told you so," but,_ told ya so_.

Ingrid pushed off from her spot tucked up in the hydrangeas and bolted. Oh, she was fast when she wanted to be. She was so fast. It was like flying, even in socks. She probably should have pulled those off to get better traction on this cursed marble floor, but if she needed to, she could always duck and slide between one of the guards legs. She always wanted to do that. Maybe she'd punch 'em in the bollocks on the way. She'd always wanted to do that, too. Like a ninja in a movie. A bollocks punching ninja.

Ingrid didn't look behind her. She didn't see the 4 guards there with their guns pre-loaded with sedatives. She only saw the one ahead of her at the foot of the bridge, the one she was sure she could evade. She didn't look for Charlie, confident he would find her wherever she managed to get off to. He always did.

She was so confident, her hair streaming behind her as she ran, her eyes clear and full of determination as she stared down the guard in front of her. Ingrid Woodhouse would be scared by no man.

Ingrid was still staring down her enemy when she felt the dart hit, just as a horrible _pop pop pop_ sounded from another firearm. Ingrid felt pain and a terrible... coldness blossom across her back. She felt her sock-feet slip out from under her just before her head cracked against the cold glass bridge.

The sky... the sky was such a dark indigo blue above her. The stars were twinkling so; their brightness was suddenly blurring and stretching and... Ingrid couldn't feel... anything. She felt nothing except and odd, warm wetness spreading out beneath her. It was so odd. Everything felt... just odd all the sudden, and her ears were ringing so.

"what was that?" A panicked voice shouted."

"Oh fuck! Oh, fuck!"

"Donnelly, what did you do? Please tell me you did not just fire live rounds at a valuable asset."

"I didn't know, I grabbed the wrong gun."

"She wasn't dangerous."

"I didn't know. I grabbed the wrong gun, I swear, I thought it was a dart, I swear-"

A single _pop_ from a handgun.

"She was just a kid! Oh, God forgive us."

Ingrid was vaguely aware of Charlie's voice screaming somewhere beneath her, an endless chorus of her name. All she heard as the world around her faded to black.

_Ingrid! Ingrid! Ing! Ing! No! No! No! You Bastards! You've Killed My Sister! I'll Kill You! I'll Kill All Of You! You Are Dead! You're Dead! Ingrid! Ingrid! No!_


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We find out what happened to Ingrid. Charlie meets Linda Farrier. Gestalt gets indirectly mentioned.

**Year 1994: (Charlie Woodhouse)**

Charlie's face was a mess; his right eye nearly swollen shut, his lip split. There was blood all down the front of his shirt and staining the knees of his trousers. Some of it was his blood, some of it was Ingrids... some of it belonged to any bastard that got close enough for him to reach with his fists before the sedatives took hold.

_She'd still been breathing._ It was the only thing he had to hold onto. _Her eyelids were still fluttering._ Maybe they'd gotten her to a doctor, stopped the bleeding in time. Ingrid was too valuable to these people. _100 million._ Charlie couldn't even dream of that kind of money. Surely they wouldn't just let her bleed out on that bridge. They'd patch her up. She'd be alright. Ingrid was a fighter.

Hope could be a bloody bastard.

Charlie was back in the small grey room where the auction took place, chained back up to the metal table. He could taste his own blood on his tongue. Was he being watched right now, or had he been left in here to rot? Charlie slumped in the chair and rested his forehead on the cold metal; it felt good against his swollen skin. It wasn't long before the overhead light came on, casting hard shadows across the room.

The man from earlier, Prescott, entered the room. Charlie was pleased to see his nose was bandaged. Ingrid had told him she head butted him when he came in close. _At least she was able to get in one good shot. Shot_. Charlie grimaced. Prescott sneered.

"Do you have any idea how much money you and your sister's little stunt cost us?"

Charlie remained silent. He wouldn't give this bastard anything.

"You're lucky the Russians are still interested. She's lost significant value as a future field asset, but she still holds potential for medical and scientific experimentation and application." Prescott said, like he was reading the ingredients off the back of a box.

Charlie's spine straightened. She still had value. Ingrid was still alive. He was paying attention now. Reaching out with his powers for any foothold he could grab, any system he could infiltrate to get more information, while listening to whatever this idiot was willing to give up without knowing it.

"It's a set-back, to be sure," Prescott said as he paced to small room, "but we just need another day or two to patch her up for transport, and we'll be able to get her on her way. You're very lucky. You don't know what we would have had to do if you'd lost us her full value. As it is..." He tsked, "we'll have to recoup the loss in other ways."

_Ah, get on with it, already, you prick_, Charlie thought.

"I've had to contact your original buyer, explain that you had a, uh... unfortunate reaction to the sedative used, and will no longer be available for sale. You will be joining your sister with the Russians, which I am sure will please you," he gave a withering look at this. "I do not mean to reward you abysmal behavior, but her price was so much more than yours... better to appease her buyer. But if you put one toe out of line, one single toe out of line..." he drew a long, slender finger across his throat. The meaning was clear.

_Fuck up, Charlie boy, and your head's gonna be the one on the chopping block, not mine._

"Right," Charlie said, slamming his hands, best he could being chained up, on the metal table. "You taking me to her, or you gonna keep flapping your jaw all night?"

"No," Prescott said with disdain, "you know, I don't think I will be taking you to see your sister. You're going to stay right where you are until it's time for transport. Less chance for you to think of another way to botch things up for me."

"Thanks, mate!" Charlie spat at Prescott's back as the man slunk out of the room, the door clicking shut behind him. Ingrid's alive. That was something to hold onto, at least. For however long he was stuck in here.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Charlie was shoved roughly into a large, dark shipping container. It had been three days since he'd seen Ingrid. Surely they didn't mean to transport her in here, too. The only light in the container filtered in from holes poked randomly in the shipping crate, like they were a litter of kittens being transported to the flea market. The floor was lined with hay, a few blankets and buckets strewn about. The entire place stunk of fish and salt water.

Charlie felt gently around the edges of the container, not wanting to trip over anyone until his eyes adjusted to the odd, brownish light.

"Ingrid, you in here?" He called.

"She's over here," a soft female voice called, "Can't talk, though, not yet."

"What's- How's she-" Charlie wanted to rush to her, but it was so bloody dark in here. He didn't want to break something, or accidentally fall on Ingrid and hurt her worse. He tried to slowly feel his way along the metal walls toward the voice.

"I did the best I could for her," the woman spoke again, "But my power, it... it takes something from me. I could only do so much, or I would have... we would have just swapped places, see?" There was regret in her voice, like she felt guilty she hadn't. So, she had been healed by an EVA, but not fully. There were all sort of miraculous powers out there. But why didn't this mystery woman heal her all the way? What was the cost of her power? I mean, he'd heard of some weird stuff, but all he got was a tingly numbness in his hands and feet if he stayed wired in for too long, a bit like the circulation had got cut off. How bad could this lady have it? Part of Charlie, a big part, thought, _she's 9 years old. You should have swapped. If you could have, you should have taken it all, whatever it all was._

"You saved that girls life, Imogen," another voice chimed in just then, "only other thing you could have done was die for her, and even then she'd still likely be in the same state. You did the best you could."

Charlie froze. _What state was she still in?_ As his eyes fully adjusted, he could just barely make out two medical pallets at the far end of the shipping container. They were far from what you would want or expect for someone who had just been shot three times by a military-grade rifle, but it was better than hay and a filthy blanket. Ingrid was on one, sleeping soundly, and a woman, Imogen, was on the other. It was so dark, he could barely make out her shape, but from what he could tell, she was as heavily bandaged as Ingrid. It looked as if she had taken several of Ingrid's wounds and... transferred them to herself. I did as much as I could. It takes something from me. Well, now that Charlie could see, it put it into perspective. Both of them have IVs in their arms, running up to bags secured on the wall of the shipping container.

"There's a few more bags in the small cooler there," Imogen gestured to a small styrofoam cooler by the wall. "It'll be a long journey. There's not enough to keep them fresh the whole time. Just do one a day. Cap the line when they run out; we can't afford to lose any blood. Leave the needle in. If it comes to it, give the fluids to the girl first."

'Thank you," Charlie muttered. He crouched down and took Ingrids small, pale hand in his own. Her breath was shallow, but when she felt his hand holding hers, her eyes cracked open.

"Char?" Ingrid's voice was barely above a whisper.

"I'm here, Ing. I'm finally here."

"I... I can't move my legs, Charlie." Her voice cracked.

"Shhh," Charlie whispered. "It's okay, Ingrid." This complicated things, but he'd sort it. How they were going to escape now, in a shipping container that looked to be off to sea...

"Hey, Ing... are you sure your legs weren't swapped out for fins? Like a reverse Little Mermaid situation? Because that would be ideal right about now."

Ingrid laughed, then she cried, then she balled up her fist and punched him a good one right in the shoulder.

"Not funny," she said.

But she'd smiled. She was still here. She was still with him. Warm and alive. Ingrid Woodhouse. Practically bulletproof, she was.

Charlie looked around the cold shipping container. _Now, how to get out of this particular mess._

_______________________________________________________________________________

**(Ingrid Woodhouse)**

As it turned out, Charlie did not have to plan a brilliant escape at sea. For once, he said, they didn't have to worry anymore.

Because this time, they were rescued! By the Cheeky!

No, that wasn't right.

Cheeky?

Checky?

Shack-something-or-other?

Whatever.

Whoever they were, they had taken Ingrid to a proper hospital with very good drugs. Charlie had seemed scared and angry at first, but someone said... something to him and... it was all very fuzzy. They'd taken all the EVAs, and Charlie had said, Everything's gonna be alright now, Ing, and off they'd gone.

Ingrid wasn't sure how long it'd been since she'd seen Charlie. She'd been slipping in and out of sleep, with lots of very friendly nurses in and out of her room. It was a very white room, with a very white bed and very white sheets. Ingrid wasn't sure she'd ever been anywhere so clean before. She couldn't remember having anything to eat yet, and her throat hurt an awful lot. There were a lot of tubes and machines and _whirring_ and _beeping_ noises. She couldn't remember actually talking to anyone for a while, now that she thought about it. _Weird_. Ingrid drifted off back to a dreamless sleep.

__________________________________________________________________________________

**(Charlie Woodhouse)**

What was that saying? _Better the devil you know?_ This week just got better and better. First, they were captured by Vultures, now, they were "rescued" by Her Royal Majesties government tracers. This is just bloody brilliant, Charlie thought as he paced the small, well-appointed room in some non-descript office building in Central London. It didn't look like a prison, no. It was dressed up like a cozy little bedroom, complete with writing desk and frilly throw pillow. But Charlie wasn't fool enough to believe he could just leave.

When the agents first broke into the shipping container, Charlie's hackles went up. _Now's our opportunity to run_! They couldn't, though. Ingrid couldn't. Under any other circumstances, Charlie'd never let these bastards take them in. No, they didn't do experiments. No, they didn't sell you or turn you out like a trick pony, but if the Checquy got their claws into you, they owned you, all the same. Ingrid needed medical help, though. Real medical help. Charlie couldn't get her that. HRM's Checquy could, though. God save the Queen, and all that.

Charlie had worn a hole in the carpet by the time someone came to check on him. There was a firm knock at the door, followed by the buzz of an electronic lock releasing, and a tall woman, late-twenties, blonde, let herself in. She was slim and attractive, wearing a navy silk blouse and wide-leg tweed trousers. Her smile was pleasant, but her eyes were cunning. Charlie thought it best not to underestimate her.

"Charlie Woodhouse, Hello," she said, offering him her perfectly manicured hand, "Bishop Linda Farrier, pleased to meet you."

"Yeah," Charlie said, grabbing her hand for a firm shake, "can't say the same. How's my sister?"

Bishop Farrier raised an eyebrow, but she held her tongue. Charlie was impressed, in spite of himself. Most adults would correct his rudeness.

"Ingrid is in recovery. They were able to remove all the bullet fragments, so if she suffered any loss of feeling, she should regain it. However," she paused to collect herself, "there was irreversible damage done to her spinal cord."

"Okay," Charlie said, letting it sink in for a moment, "What's that mean, exactly?"

"Well," Linda continued, "With Ingrid's particular EVA... we're not entirely sure. We can try physical therapy, see if she is able to regain any mobility at all, but... with anyone else, it would mean... well, it would mean Ingrid would never walk again. She'll most likely be in a wheelchair the rest of her life."

"Hmm." So, Charlie had to buy time. A wheelchair wasn't that bad, they could work with that. It would make Ingrid more memorable if they were running cons, but...

"How long's she going to be in recovery, then?" Charlie asked.  
  
"She'll have to stay in the hospital for at least another 2 weeks for observation; if all goes well, she can be moved to private or in-home rehabilitation, which depends on what you decide here. It will likely take 6 months to a year for her body to fully heal; she is very lucky. Ingrid is young, and from what we were able to tell, the young EVA Imogen was able to repair most of the damage done to her liver, spleen and kidneys. We'd likely be looking at a much different outcome if she hadn't been there with you. It was truly very fortunate. We can, of course, go ahead and move you to Glengrove in the meantime, or you can stay with your sister as long as she remains in the hospital, whichever you prefer."

2 weeks in hospital, 6 months to fully heal... Charlie was going to have to figure out a way to buy a lot of time. He was going to have to play alo- his mind finally caught up with what Bishop Farrier said.

"Hey, hold on a minute. I didn't agree to nothing about no Glengrove. What's this, now?"

"Oh," Linda waved her hand like she was waving off a bee, "I got ahead of myself. Glengrove house is the Checquy's premiere training facility for promising young EVAs. We'd like to offer you a spot, if you'd accept."

"I ain't going nowhere without Ingrid," Charlie said bluntly. He would play along, but only so far as he could find a way to keep both him and his sister in the deal.

"Don't misunderstand," Linda covered gracefully, "We aren't in the business of turning children out on the streets. Certainly not disabled or gravely wounded children. We will make sure Ingrid is cared for."

"Uh-uh, No," Charlie said, getting right up in Linda's face. She just smiled at him, unfazed. "I ain't letting you lot dump Ing in some group home. Just 'cause she ain't got legs no more, don't mean she ain't valuable to you lot. She got a head for numbers like nobody you never met, and she can read people, too. It's not just her body's got good instincts, her mind does, too. You put her in a room with anybody, she can tell you who's lying a mile out, my Ingrid. You could train her up good to send off on some diplo- you know, up to them fussbudget foreigners and she'd find out all their dirt. Plus, them vultures only wanted 35 for me, and Ing brought in 100 mil. It'd be stupid to keep me and toss her out."

Linda's wry smile blossomed into a full grin, like the cat that got the canary.

"Oh, you drive a hard bargain, Charlie Woodhouse," she said fondly. "Tell you what. I have a problem. Well, two, in fact. You help me with them, and I'll help you."

Charlie had the sinking suspicion he'd fallen right into a trap, but he couldn't back out now.

"Alright, What's your problem?"

"My first problem is that we have a bit of a leak inside Glengrove. Someone has been getting information out," Charlie started to protest, _I ain't no rat_, but Linda held up a finger to silence him. "I don't need to know who. I already know. He did nothing to hide his voice on the tapes. I just need the information to stop getting out of Glengrove. And I need the information that's already on the Internet to be... erased, or, if not erased, buried so deep no one who doesn't know exactly what they are looking for would ever find it. It's my understanding that's a specialty of yours."

"Yeah," Charlie said, smugly. Oh, that would be a piece of cake. "You could say that."

"Second," Linda continued, "The main subject of those tapes... a young EVA at Glengrove... they've gotten the... practical aspect of what we want them to do, but... they are proving resistant to truly... embracing their... individual uniqueness? It's much easier to show than it is to tell. But the work you and your sister have done together on the outside, the... grifting," she ground that last word out like it tasted bad... Charlie liked it. "might be just the skill they're missing."

"So..." Charlie said, amused now, "you want me to use my power, and you want me to be, like, what? A criminal tutor?"

"No!" Linda wrinkled her nose. It didn't look right on her face. "I want you to be a big brother. A mentor. Do for them what you do for Ingrid. They need help- if they don't get it, they're not going to survive out here." She waved one had delicately around the room, like it was the whole of the world. "Just... think about it. We'll look after you and your sister, either way, but... if you meet this EVA, you'll see. They're almost the same age as Ingrid, and their power is... highly impractical. They won't survive if they can't learn to blend in and disappear into a crowd. You've managed to hide the two of you from us for, what, 5 years? At your age? It's exactly the sort of thing they need to learn how to do, and so far we've been spectacularly failing to teach them."

Bishop Farrier dusted off her trousers, though she'd hardly gotten them dirty standing in the room with Charlie. she smiled again, tipping her head slightly to the side.

"Just think about it. I'll be by tomorrow to bring you to see your sister."

_____________________________________________________________________________

True to her word, Linda Farrier returned the next morning to bring Charlie to the hospital to see Ingrid. Today she was wearing a knee-length charcoal pencil skirt and another silky blouse, this one a bright aqua. Her high heel shoes clicked smartly against the tile floors. _This Bishop's one classy lady,_ Charlie thought. He wondered, idly, what her power might be. _Impeccable style? Air of Mystery? Intimidation? No, Heartbreaker_. He felt a bit silly, just following behind her, but what else was he to do? He was sure if he paused for a breath, she'd snap her fingers and say "Here, boy," and he'd just rush right to her, quick as you like. Linda Farrier did not seem like the kind of woman you just ignored.

They reached the reached the lift, and in moments they were within shouting distance of Ingrid. There was something strange about this floor of the hospital; something in the way the staff moved that just screamed Checquy Controlled. There were a few green-clad nurses, but also several people dressed in all black who were standing around stoically, on guard in the halls. Each of them seemed to nod to Linda in turn. She paused outside one of the open doors and glanced back at Charlie.

"If you don't mind, there is someone I think we should check in on before we see your sister," she said, not waiting for Charlie's response. She rapped her knuckles on the door frame twice, then entered the room.

Charlie sighed and followed obediently. He would do whatever it took until he and Ingrid were free and clear of these people. There was a young woman in the room, not much older than Charlie. She was possibly 17 years old, with long, wavy black hair, brown eyes, and deeply tan skin. She smiled warmly when she saw them.

"Linda! You came to visit!" She exclaimed, sitting up. She winced in pain. Her voice sounded familiar to Charlie, but he couldn't quite place it.

Linda smiled and walked over to the girl, taking her hand.

"You shouldn't strain yourself, Imogen. You're still recovering. Using your powers to that extent nearly killed you." Linda shot a pointed look over her shoulder at Charlie.

Imogen. That's why the voice sounded familiar. He was sure she had been older. It had been so dark in the shipping container, he hadn't gotten a good look at her. This was the woman, the girl, who had saved Ingrid's life. Charlie fumbled at the doorway a moment, before quickly reaching up and pulling off the cap he'd worn in. Not polite to greet a hero in a hat.

"Hello," he said quickly, "we were never properly introduced. I'm Charlie, Ingrid's brother. You saved my sister's life. I never got to thank you properly. So, uh, thank you. For that. The saving." _Well, that was a cock up._

Imogen smiled. She had dimples.

"It was nothing. It was my honor to do it."

"Well," Linda said, patting Imogen's hand gently, "We just thought we would stop in and say hello. We're on our way to see Ingrid right now. I'll be back by to check on your later. Please, try not to sit up so fast next time. You need to rest."

Linda released Imogen's hand and turned back to Charlie. Her expression was unreadable. As the stepped back into the hallway, she leaned down slightly to whisper into Charlie's ear.

"EVAs like Imogen are very special, often profoundly empathetic individuals. Unfortunately, once vultures get their hands on them... their talents are often abused and squandered by private buyers who want to use them as a sort of... fountain of youth. Heal my cancer, my wife's alzheimers, make my wrinkles go away... with the Checquy, she can learn to harness her ability's full potential. She could spearhead the research team that cures AIDS, solves the blindness crisis in India, not only cures one case but rather, finds the root cause of all Cancer..."

Charlie could see the fire in her eyes, the passion this little speech was stirring up in her. He got the point she was trying to make. With us, you could be more. But... what if more meant giving up himself? And here she was, asking him to make that call for not just himself, but for him and for Ingrid. It was a lot.

"Look, I get what you are saying, but... let's just go see my sister, yeah?"

Linda nodded, and turned to resume her walk. They only went a few more doors down before stopping again. Linda paused and held her hand out. She was going to let Charlie do this one on his own. He took a breath, not sure what he was going to find. He could hear the tinny sound of cartoons from the small television in the room, but that could mean almost anything.

Charlie peeked around the corner and let go of the breathe he was holding. Ingrid was sitting up in the hospital bed, ferociously digging in to a bowl full of chocolate jello. She glanced up at him when she heard him enter, and she smiled, her cheeks all puffed out from where they were stuffed full of jello.

"Charlie," she said, her voice muffled, "Where've you been?"

"Around," Charlie said, trying for nonchalant, and landing somewhere around guilty.

"This place is great, Char." Ingrid said, swallowing her food. She still had chocolate smeared across her face. "They have telly, and so much pudding, all kinds. Chocolate, and vanilla, and red, and lemon... the green is rubbish, though."

"That's great, Ing," Charlie said, smiling. She was resilient. "Have you met Linda? It's okay, Linda, you can come in."

Ingrid gave him a look that said, _Well, this is not suspicious behavior at all_. Farrier came in, but she stayed back, still giving them space.

"Hello, Ingrid. I'm Linda Farrier. I'm a Bishop with the Checquy. I'm not here to push you to make a decision one way or the other, but I do promise you," she offered a small, but brilliant, smile, "the kitchens at Glengrove are not only stocked will all varieties of jello, but cook also bakes the most delicious chocolate chip cookies. If you choose to stay with us, I promise the pudding alone will make it worth it."

It sounded a bit like she was assuming the decision was already made. Maybe it was. The reality was sinking in that Charlie couldn't very well take Ingrid back on the streets; they had been on the run so long, and he knew she deserved better. This is where his way had landed them. The Checquy wasn't ideal, it wasn't freedom, but it wasn't slavery either. Maybe Linda Farrier's power was persuasion. The devil you know, indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a bit of a filler chapter, but I had to get Ingrid and Charlie from point A to point B (Glengrove). I could have probably fleshed this section out more, but poor Ingrid was knocked out during most of this time, and I know most fanfic readers are less interested in OCs than they are OGs, and I haven't brought in Gestalt yet, so I just tried to blaze through this section as quickly as I could. Gestalt should be introduced next chapter, unless the plot bunnies run away with me (but I have this planned out, so they shouldn't).


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlie takes a tour of Glengrove. Gestalt is finally introduced.

**Year: 1995 (Charlie Woodhouse)**

They spent Christmas in the hospital; with everything going on, it had been the furthest thing from Charlie's mind. The Bishop, Linda Farrier, had taken care of them. Charlie wasn't sure if she was just genuinely a kind woman, or if it was all part of the wooing process. She had arrived one day with several pawns in tow, and together they had decorated the tiny hospital room with a small evergreen tree, silver tinsel and a handful of shiny, wrapped packages and Christmas crackers. Charlie didn't want to trust these people, but it was hard not to when he saw the way Ingrid's eyes glowed.

They'd even bought them all new clothes: fancy new stuff from The Gap and H&M. Charlie couldn't remember the last time he'd had a pair of jeans he hadn't scrounged out of a donation box somewhere, and now he was wearing real, genuine Air Jordan's and a cool Orange Puffer Vest, and a...a...

"What's this fabric called, then?" Charlie asked the young man driving him. They were on their way to meet Linda in Dorset. He was taking a tour of Glengrove today. Ingrid still wasn't cleared to leave the hospital, but they'd made the decision to join the ranks of the Checquy and, _well_, Charlie, thought, _might as well get a leg up on it_. They had already pulled off the main road and were off up in some remote cliffs near the oceanside. Charlie wanted to roll the windows down and let his arm out, feel the wind run through his fingertips... but this buzzkill had hit the child locks as soon as he'd closed the door.

The pawn driving the government SUV glanced at him briefly and shrugged.

"Dunno." He said indifferently. He was maybe in his early 20s, and his sour expression said he resented his current assignment. _Prolly pulled him away from his girlfriend or something_, Charlie thought.

"Well, whatever it is, it's nice," Charlie said, "Warm." It was, too. Long-sleeved and grey, soft and sort of... pressed in like, like a... waffle? Linda might know. If it wasn't just a boys shirt, Ing needed to have some like this for the cool weather. The doctors said she might have trouble regulating her temperature for a while; they weren't sure, but something about there being a chance for Thoracic Spinal Cord Injuries affecting Blood Pressure? There was a lot of technical words and abbreviations (Thoracic, Lumbar, SCI, different grades and numbers for each level affected, etc) that Charlie tried to understand but couldn't; Linda said if they stayed with the Checquy, she'd make sure there was always someone to help him understand. The gist of this one was... she should probably wear layers for a while, and she might get dizzy or faint if she changed positions too fast. Not that the last one was really an issue at the moment.

The SUV came to a stop at a small, ivy-covered gate. The pawn rolled the window down and entered a code into a small silver keypad. There was a loud buzz, and a small red light came on next to the intercom.

"Conrad Granchester here for an appointment with Bishop Farrier and Frau Blumen," the pawn said.

"Oh, he has a name," Charlie said, smirking. There was a second loud buzz, and the gates slid open. Conrad cut Charlie a look that said, _I will be glad to be rid of you shortly_, rolled his neck, and drove the SUV through the gates and up the long gravel driveway.

When Linda mentioned Glengrove House, Charlie had pictured an actual house, but this was laid out more like a campus. There were several buildings of various sizes. One very much like Charlie had pictured: large and stately, like an old lord's home, with a great staircase and large windows out front. It was all covered in ivy like the front gate had been, and there were actual, ornately shaped hedges out front. There were a few smaller, matching brick buildings dotted around the estate, as well as several larger, more industrial looking spaces. Conrad pulled to a stop in front of a small carriage house adjacent to the old lord's home. Linda stepped out and opened a small umbrella. She was wearing a smart black coat.

"Get out," Conrad said brusquely, clicking the door lock.

"Nice to meet you, too, mate." Charlie said, jumping out of the vehicle. He shut the door a bit harder than necessary. _Prick_.

"Charlie," Linda smiled warmly, "So glad you made it."

The cool, damp air tickled Charlie's skin. He could smell the salt in it. He wished even more now that Conrad had let him roll the windows down in the SUV.

"Yeah, that guy who drove me up her was a real peach, though."

"Oh, Granchester?" Linda shook her head slightly. "You'll have to forgive him his rudeness. He's had some issues with his powers recently and it's made him damned near skittish to even breath around people. Charlie- if you're going to work with us, and be good at your job, you'll learn- fear expresses itself differently in everyone. You can take it personally, or you can use it to your advantage. Now, if you will, this way." She smiled tightly, and gestured for him to follow.

_There's always a lesson with this one_, Charlie thought, following her into the carriage house. The interior was warm and cozy. As Linda shook out and folded her umbrella, Charlie took in the room. There was a roaring fire in the fireplace, and on the mantel was a portrait of the original "Glengrove House" with a smaller frame of portraits, the "founding class" beneath it. A large grandfather clock counted away the hours behind an ornate wooden desk, and two large, decorative chairs sat in front of said desk. There was also a small couch shoved in against one of the walls (which were covered in a ghastly floral wallpaper and wooden chair rail).

"Please," Linda said, gesturing to the chairs, "sit down. Frau Blumen will be in shortly."

As if summoned by her word, a stout woman backed her way in through a side door Charlie hadn't noticed. She was carrying a tray with a small tea set and a box of biscuits on it. She smiled as she set the tray down on the desk, her plump cheeks rosy from the small amount of exertion.

"Hello, Charlie. Thought you might like a pick-me-up before your tour," she said, cheerily. "I'm one of the instructors here at Glengrove, and it's my honor to welcome you."

"Oh, yes," Charlie said, taking a seat and grabbing a biscuit. It was pink and sugary. "Thank you. What do you teach?"

"Oh," Frau Blumen said, winking, "If I told you that, I'd have to kill you! Spy Humor! Sugar?" She dropped two lumps of sugar and a hefty pour of cream into a cuppa and passed it to Charlie.

She did not answer his question. Charlie put the biscuit back on his plate and wondered if he should really be drinking that cuppa.

"Well,' he said, pushing the dishes safely back onto the desk, "It was lovely to meet you, Frau Blumen, but it was a long drive here, and it's going to be a long drive back to London, so... maybe we should go ahead and get on with the tour?" He looked meaningfully at Linda, whose eyes were dancing with mirth.

"Oh, well-" Frau Blumen looked disappointed as she nibbled on the end of a pink biscuit, bits of it flaking off onto her chin as she chewed, "you didn't even finish your tea, and I never get to have company over. I ordered these chairs especially for- no one ever takes me up on professors hours-"

"Well, I mean, once I'm properly enrolled, "Charlie hedged. _Bloody hell._

"Steffi, dear," Linda said, placing a hand on Charlie's shoulder. "I'll try to get out more to visit. I know since I was promoted and Butler took over as school Governor it's been a difficult transition-"

"So difficult," Blumen sniffled.

Linda nodded graciously.

"Yes, well, I have been very busy, but I have so missed our talks and I will try to get out more. I'll have my assistant send you some of that special tea you liked as soon as I get back to my office, how does that sound?"

"Oh, that sounds lovely, yes," Frau Blumen said, smiling. "Thank you." She stood, brushing the crumbs off herself as she did so and extended her hand. Charlie took it. Frau Blumen gave his hand a firm shake.

"I hope you enjoy your tour, Charlie. Linda." The two women nodded at each other. Linda retrieved her umbrella from the rack and held the door for Charlie as they stepped back out into the light drizzle.

"That was... interesting," Charlie said under his breath as the door closed behind them. Linda chuckled.

"Steffi Blumen is an eccentric, but you'd do well to have her on your side here. I thought an introduction would be good. She is far more influential than you'd think. Appearances can be deceiving."

They began walking, gravel lightly crunching beneath their feet, towards the main house. It must have been at least 4 or 5 floors.

"This, as I'm sure you gathered, is the original Glengrove House," Linda said. "This is where Sir Henry first started teaching and housing students on these grounds, but it has grown quite a lot since then. We've had to add a separate dormitory and gymnasium, as well as a few more on-site staff quarters and a larger dining hall. All of this is, of course, run on a central electrical line..." She gave him a pointed look. "We will be trusting you not to use your powers to access anything you should not, tempting as that may be."

They continued to make their way around the exterior of all these buildings, and Charlie began to wonder if they were going to go in any of them. He had yet to see any students, and it was midday. Maybe they were being kept out of the rain.

"Charlie? Have you been paying attention?" Linda asked, stopping abruptly.

"Yeah, of course," he said. He had. Had it seemed like he wasn't?

"Did you notice anything? About the exterior of most of these buildings? The problem?"

"No."

"Really, Charlie." Linda sighed. "What have I been telling you about paying attention? Adapting? This was one of the reasons I wanted to bring you in, something I believed was a key skill of yours. Something in your life has changed recently. Something important. There is something that all of these buildings have in common that presents a problem. Solve."

"Well," Charlie said, scratching the back of his head, "I didn't realize I was going to be quizzed."

Linda was looking at him expectantly. _Think, Charlie, Think. What do these buildings have in common? They are all mismatched? They all run off a central electric line? They're covered in ivy? They've got all them stairs-_

"Fuck." Charlie dropped into a squat and steepled his fingers, looking up at Linda. She looked pleased that he'd figured it out. "Fuuuuuuuck." Charlie popped back up and started pacing, kicking at the gravel, not caring if he scuffed his new shoes. "How in the fuck is Ingrid supposed to get in these buildings, when they've all got these great big bloody stairs everywhere?"

Hands were on both his shoulders then, stopping him from pacing. Linda was forcing him around to look at her.

"I've already talked to my superiors about that. Most of these buildings are old, build a long time before the DDA, so they aren't in proper compliance. But we are a government agency, and not only is there no excuse for our newer buildings not to be, it's also absurd for us to be operating under the assumption that we would never come across an EVA that needed reasonable accommodations. So- we will be making immediate modifications, adding accessibility ramps to the buildings that do not have them; and accessible stalls in the bathrooms. There are already service elevators in the older buildings so that isn't an issue, and we will make modifications to one of the dormitories."

"Okay," Charlie said, nodding.

"But," Linda continued, "all of that will take time, and we still have the issue of Ingrid's rehabilitation at hand. So, for now-"

"No," Charlie cut her of and pushed her away, stumbling back a few feet. "No, I done told you we ain't being separated. I don't want to hear eventually or down the line. I ain't going one place and her going another. We're staying together."

Linda sighed and pinched the collar of her jacket together against the wind, taking a moment to gather her thoughts before she spoke again.

"I don't want to separate you, but you need to think about what is best for both of you. Ingrid needs aggressive rehabilitation to give her the best chance to regain the most function possible. She isn't just trying to recover from her injury- she is having to learn an entirely new way to live in the world, something you can't teach her. I'm afraid... I'm afraid if she is with you at first, you're going to want to do everything for her, and it's going to hurt her in the long run."

"How dare you!" Charlie was livid now. _Hurt Ingrid? Hurt Ingrid?_ "I would never- I would never hurt Ingrid!"

"Not intentionally, no, but by trying to help her- to keep her from going through the pain she is going to have to go through to come out the other end of this whole... there are some things she is going to have to learn to do for herself. We found a facility not far from here. You can see her regularly; several times a week, and as soon as the renovations are made to make Glengrove livable for her we can bring her here."

She was talking to the wind, because Charlie was running, feet moving, gravel crunching, no idea where he was heading. He just had to be in motion. He had to get away from her. It was too much. _These people._ Thinking they knew what was best for him and Ingrid. Charlie'd kept them safe all this time, not the Checquy. They were family. He would never do anything to hurt her. To even imply it. Charlie knew she meant to help, but if he looked at her right now, he didn't know what he'd do or say, so he put as much distance between them as possible.

The air was cold and his puffy vest didn't offer much protection against the damp. Charlie ran past what he assumed was the gymnasium and the dormitories, out past a football pitch and through more green grass than he could remember ever seeing in his life in the London streets. He ran until he could no longer feel the electrical hum of the school generators, finally slowing near an outcropping of rocks, his hair dripping and his clothes soaked through. He sat down on the rocks, his skin clammy and cold.

Charlie leaned back on his hands and looked up at the grey sky, letting the light rain fall right into his face. He might catch a cold, but it wouldn't be the worst that'd ever happened to him.

After a few minutes, he felt the gentle rumble of a small vehicle vibrating up through the ground. He looked over his shoulder and saw Linda driving a small utilities cart over to him. Resourceful, persistent Linda. Charlie expected her to demand he get into the cart, but instead she turned off the engine, got out, and plopped down on the rocks next to him without any regard for her nice coat. She was a surprising woman. She was silent for a few minutes, just sitting there with him. She had a folder in her hand, but she wasn't doing anything with it yet.

"You know," she said, finally breaking the silence. "There are so many stories I could tell you. How I was brought in, like you, off a boat at sea, sold to God knows who, God knows where, for God knows what purpose... how this place, these people became my home, my family. I could tell you I see something of myself in every child we bring in through these doors, so I promise you, I would never, allow anything to happen to any of you if I could help it. I could tell you about Conrad, who drove you here; about Steffi, who you just met... there are so many stories. Who knows, maybe one day, I could have stories to tell about you and about Ingrid. I hope so. But for now, this," she dropped the folder into Charlie's lap, "is the story I want you to listen to. I hope you will come back with me and meet them."

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

**Year: 1990**  
**Warsaw, Poland**

Mama pushed them deeper into the forest, as quickly as their small feet would carry them. The wind howled through the trees, the moon cast hard shadows across the ground... they could hardly keep track of which eyes saw what, which feet went where- roots tripped, branches ripped at their hair and the soft skin of their cheeks. The air was already bitterly cold and stung their faces. It would be winter soon, and they had to hurry. The snow would make them easier to track.

_Hurry, Don't Be Frightened,_ they heard Mama's voice in their minds. _We have to find the river, quickly now._

_Yes, Mama, _they thought back.

She had woken them in the dead of night, wordlessly ordering them to put on their thickest socks and sturdiest boots. She already had "go" packs ready for each of them. They had been waiting for the right moment for a long time, but it seemed strange that it would be just before winter. They could not see all of their Mama's mind, only what she allowed them to (_You are only part of the whole, my little Matryoshka dolls. One day, perhaps you will see_). They did not know what had happened, but Mama had placed her hands on their cheeks, kissed the backs of their hands softly, and they knew it was time to leave the life they'd known behind.

They slowed as they reached the river; Mama lined their four bodies up to face her. She looked sad and solemn, unshed tears in her clear blue eyes. She held up two hands, and one body, a tiny mirror of Mama, stepped in close, fitting palm against palm.

"Follow the Vistula River North to Mlocinski Forest," Mama spoke softly, pressing her own knowledge into their mind along with her words. _Follow the stars at night. Stay out of the mud or you will leave tracks. If you hear dogs, go into the water so they cannot track your scent. If you get wet, dry your clothes and shoes, no matter how cold you get. It is more important to be dry, or you will get colder. Press your bodies together for warmth. Stay warm. Drink Water. Forage for these berries and these nuts. Do not eat these. Follow these paths to find abandoned cabins in the winter. Stay hidden. Stay safe. Your father must not find you._

_Where will you be, Mama? Are you not coming?_ They pressed back.

_I cannot. He will use me to find you. He cannot have you, my Matryoshka. My babies. You are more important than I am. Go._

They took one last look at their mother, silvery-blonde hair glinting in the moonlight, and they fled. They felt it when she took her own life by the bank of the river. They kept running, tears streaming like the river they were running along side.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

**1995 (Charlie Woodhouse)**

The file Linda had given Charlie made very little sense. So much information had been blacked out, or crossed out, and what little was left was punctuated with question marks. The only constant was the four faces looking back at him: three boys and one girl, all with the same striking pale blue eyes and white-blonde hair. When Charlie had turned to Linda, eyes full of confusion, she had simply smiled and said,

"I told you, it's easier to see than to explain."

So, Charlie had gotten into the small utilities cart with her, and now they were standing inside a small control room, looking through two-way glass into a child's bedroom. The room was divided into quarters, decorated by color with a name painted above the bed: Blue (Robert), Red (Alex), Yellow (Teddy), Pink (Eliza). There was a color-coordinated child sitting in their designated quarter of the room, working industriously at their desk. They looked to be about Ingrid's age, possibly a bit younger.

"You're telling me that you've got scientists, what, just sitting in here watching these kids sleep?" Charlie asked, incredulous, poking at the glass. The four children on the other side froze, backs stiffening simultaneously. Their heads all tilted slightly, left ears turning towards the sound. After a short pause, they returned to their work.

"Not exactly," Linda said, stepping closer. "You know they are talking about you right now, right? They communicate telepathically? At least, that's what we assume. We're still not entirely sure. That's how most hive minds work, but The Gestalt seems to be unique. That's what we call them, as a whole. After The Gestalt Principles. The way the mind tends to perceive patterns and create order out of chaos."

"So, what, you just found them out in the woods one day and thought... these kids look like our brand of strange?"

Linda ignored him, reaching over to click a small button on the intercom.

"Gestalt?"

Four blonde heads swiveled around to face the mirror.

"Good morning!" They chimed in unison.

"Good morning," Linda said pleasantly. "I've brought a new friend today. Please demonstrate your compartmentalization."

The children immediately broke apart and began performing different tasks. Yellow began tidying the room. Pink began playing with a small dollhouse. Red began doing some stretches. Blue continued working at the desk. They all had a blank look on their face, though.

"Well done, Gestalt. Thank you." Linda clicked the intercom off. "We found them and brought them in two years ago. We have no idea how long they were on their own, how old they are, what their situation was before that. They were completely non-verbal, only communicating with each other, surviving off the land. We have no idea how children that young survived in the woods for that long, in that climate. They learned the language very quickly, and it became clear to us that they believe themselves to be one person, not four individuals."

"I don't know what you know about the history of EVAs, but... some of the first recorded powers to manifest were twin psychic phenomenon. Twins saying, Oh, I knew my twin was in danger miles away. I knew they were in pain. Twins who made up languages. Twin telepathy. But... the Gestalt... it isn't clear if they were ever a separate entity and simply merged into one during their time in isolation, if the lines simply became too blurred... or if they truly are one mind, one soul. It may be the only recorded unique case we have ever seen. But-" She waved her had towards the window, and the children on the other side. "As you can see- they will never be able to survive the outside world like this. They cannot live in this room forever."

"So, why not just put them in with other kids?" Charlie asked. It seemed like the obvious solution.

"We've tried that," Linda said. "They... would you like to actually meet them?"

"Sure, why not." Charlie shrugged.

Linda leaned over and clicked the intercom again.

"Gestalt, may we come in for a visit?"

The children perked up at that, standing and straightening their clothes.

"Oh, Missus, may we please come outside to visit?"

Linda smiled.

"It's raining today, Gestalt."

"That's okay, I'll grab my welly's," they said in unison, already running to pull on 4 pairs of rain boots.

Linda laughed and waved Charlie back to the door.

"It's okay. I'll page Frau Blumen and let her know we're taking them out. It'll be good for them. Aside from their ability to communicate instantaneously with each other, The Gestalt are just normal children. They don't have an active power. It makes them one of the most vulnerable EVAs in our care."

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

**(Gestalt)**

Gestalt waited patiently for the door to unlock so they could go outside and into the fresh air. They didn't care that it was raining. It had been ages. Whoever this "new friend" was that they were being shown off to, they were grateful. They bounced all 8 feet in their rubber boots, particularly enjoying the way the soles suctioned against Robert's high arches. They were still getting used to having different names. They kept the one Mama had given them close to their hearts; their secret name. She could see into their mind clearly the day they were born; she knew they were one. _My little Matryoshka dolls, all nested together._ They knew better than to give these English all their secrets, though.

The intercom clicked back on again and the woman's staticky voice filtered back through the speakers again.

"Grab your coats as well, Gestalt. It's chilly out."

Gestalt rolled their eyes and followed orders. Coats on, back in single-file line. Open the door. After what felt like eons, the little green light came on and Robert (Gestalt's designated door opener) led the charge to the great outdoors. It wasn't nearly as bad as the woman made it out to be. English had weak constitutions. Their mother had been through much worse winters than this. They had been through worse winters than this, with far less. They'd felt it. Mama'd made sure they understood how to survive before she'd... left.

They recognized the woman who met them; she'd been to see them several times before. She was blonde and kind. The boy with her was different; he looked tired, older than he actually was. He looked like they felt.

"Gestalt, do you remember me? Linda Farrier," The woman said, smiling. She put her hand behind the boy's back and pushed him forward. "This is Charlie; he and his sister might be coming to stay at Glengrove. I am hoping that you can be friends."

"Oh, really?" Gestalt said in unison, eyebrows raised. "Actual friends? That's new." They tilted their heads to the side, inspecting the boy more carefully. He furrowed his brow and looked at Linda sideways.

"Do they do that a lot?" He asked. "They look like puppy dogs when they do that."

"It's one of their many ticks, yes." Linda replied.

"Huh," Charlie said. He began circling them, like he was sizing them up. "What's up with the different colors?"

"It helps them differentiate. They're still getting used to identifying as individuals. It's easier to look down at the fraternal's and tell which is which, obviously, but the identical twins are a bit harder, so we just split them all up by color. It seemed kinder than putting name tags on all of them."

"Really?" Charlie asked, skeptically. "Linda, I thought you said they were smart? Quick on the uptake? Seems like they should have that down already. I don't know... if they don't have their own names down yet..."

"It's rude to talk about people when they're standing right in front of you," Gestalt said from Eliza's mouth.

"Didn't anyone ever teach you that?" Teddy seethed.

"Oh, they snark. You didn't mention the snark," Charlie said.

"It's new," Linda said, looking mildly impressed. "See, you're already bringing out a better side of them."

"Are you going to talk about me all day?" Alex asked.

"Or can I go play on the swings now?" Robert finished.

"Of course, Gestalt." Linda said. "Go ahead, we'll be along shortly."

Gestalt stomped ahead, their boots squishing in the damp grass, enthusiasm slightly lessened by the rudeness of their new "friend." _Really._

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

**(Charlie Woodhouse)**

"Well, I'd say that was a success," Linda said as they watched Gestalt run off to the playground.

"Really," Charlie said. "We just pushed that little kid's buttons."

"Mmm," Linda made a sound of agreement, "and they responded using different voices, without prompting. That is not the usual reaction with they get riled. They normally speak in unison. So, see, progress! Already." She smiled and patted Charlie on the shoulder, twirling her umbrella as she followed the children toward the playground.

_Progress?_ What had Charlie gotten himself and Ingrid into?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully this didn't end too abruptly. It feels a little weird to me in places (mostly around the tea and tour time, it moves a bit awkwardly? I can do better), but I want to write the entire story before I really dig into editing it, or I am afraid my crazy will take over and prevent me from getting the whole story out, and that would be the worst. I don't want to do that. I must finish this one! So. I am going to shut her up and just tell my story, Edit it later. I already know someone who gives amazing advice, I've been told. :) So, save your notes for me in a word file somewhere and give them to me when I complete this baby, and I will go back through and give you a beautiful clean copy for future readers. haha. Thank you for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ingrid starts Physical Therapy. Charlie moves to Glengrove. Gestalt gets sassy with Frau Blumen.

**1995 (Ingrid Woodhouse)**

It was strange to leave the hospital after so many weeks. Ingrid had gotten used to her tiny room and the seemingly never-ending supply of jello cups. Charlie stayed with her during most visiting hours, and when she was able to stay awake he would read to her or they would watch movies on the small television in the corner of the room. The blonde woman, Ms. Linda, had brought a VHS player, and she told the pawns keeping guard on Ingrid's room to "take out as many movies and books from the library" as Ingrid wanted.

So far, she'd already caught up on most of the Disney movies (They didn't have The Lion King yet, _what complete rubbish_!), and she particularly enjoyed a book called 'The Farthest Away Mountain.' But none of it was enough to distract from the pain that was constantly shooting down her legs and knifing out from the center of her back and around and down her hips and into her buttocks. There was also a strange, tingling numbness in her toes, and she sometimes felt it up into her shoulder-blades and down her arms and into her fingers. When she woke up in the night and Charlie wasn't there, the raw panic and fear that griped at her as she pressed the button, unable to get the words out, chest and throat tight... the nurses would just press the needle into her IV until she relaxed enough to stop clawing at them blindly.

"There, there," they would say. "The pain should be better now."

_But it wasn't pain_, Ingrid wanted to say._ I can't breathe! My throat! The walls are closing in on me!_ But then everything grew soft and dark, quiet and still, until it was morning again.

Over her stay in the hospital, Ingrid began to notice one guard on rotation more than others; a petite Indian woman with an open, curious expression. She always kept her hair back in a ponytail, and she wore purple cat-eye glasses. She didn't talk much, but Ingrid had noticed when she introduced herself, Priya Kapoor, that her voice was lightly accented. She had helped Ms. Linda and another pawn decorate the small hospital room for Christmas, and had even joined Ingrid and Charlie in popping a few Christmas Crackers. She had donned a pink crown and made funny faces at the other pawn, who had looked, _strangely terrified of her?_ It made Ingrid wonder what her power might be, for someone so tiny and soft-spoken to inspire a look like that. Maybe he was just scared of girls.

Ms. Linda had announced that they were moving on just a few days ago, and after a short discussion with Charlie, they'd agreed he would start at Glengrove while she began Physical Therapy at St. Cammillus, approx. 45 miles away. While there, Priya would be staying with her as her guardian. The hospital staff had already dressed Ingrid for the trip; she was in a simple blue sweater, jeans and yellow vans. Ms. Linda had arranged for her to get a "top of the line" wheelchair, instead of a generic hospital one. Hers was pink. It was still going to take some getting used to.

Priya was bustling around the room, double and triple checking that nothing was left behind. Not that Ingrid had many belongings to leave behind. They were picking up Charlie before they headed to Dorset. Ingrid was trying to tug her coat on, but she'd only managed to get one arm in. She still had trouble reaching up and back.

"I think you've got everything," she said, grunting as she struggled to grab the other jacket arm, "but I could use a little help."

Priya, who was checking behind the bathroom door for the third time, glanced up and shook her head.

"Oh, one second," she said before hurrying over to help. She quickly grabbed the jacket and helped Ingrid into it. "I think you're right. Just wanted to be sure. I'd hate to have to drive all the way back to the city because we forgot to grab a sweater or Mr. Paddington Bear."

"If we missed Paddington Bear," Ingrid said, laughing, "I'd be worried. That thing's huge. The jar of marmalade he came with, maybe. But I think Ms. Linda bought the biggest bear in all of London."

"Ms. Linda?" Priya said, putting her hand over her heart and looking shocked. "Young lady, Santa made Mr. Paddington bear in his workshop just for you. Ms. Linda did not buy him!" She grabbed the handles on the back of the wheelchair and began to push Ingrid towards the door, spinning her around slowly once, for one last look at the four white walls she'd called home for the last 6 weeks.

"Ready to go?"

"Yeah, let's hit the road, James."

"Aye, Aye, Captain," Priya said, giving her a small salute.

As Priya rolled Ingrid down the hallway and into the elevator, she took a final look around at all the people who had helped her the past few weeks. They were still busy, helping others like her. Nurses, doctors, and pawns guarding the floor of the hospital occupied by the Checquy and the people they protected. People like her. They had saved her life. They were saving other people's lives right now, and they'd done it without demanding anything in return. Instead, they'd asked. Ingrid could respect that.

The elevator dinged as the doors slid shut.

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

**(Gestalt)**

Gestalt was up and dressed early, waiting by the door for today's assignment. Frau Blumen had asked for their assistance. She'd requested their help to organize one of the rooms in the Carriage House next to her apartment for a new student arriving. Normally, the Carriage House was reserved for visiting guests, professors, or other specialists. Students bunked in one of the two dormitories, or, if they were like Gestalt, they had their own "cabin" that was arraigned for special study.   
  
Gestalt chewed nervously on their thumbs. _Was this a test of their compartmentalization, or something else?_ It was such a strange request. _Maybe the dorms were full?_ It was late in the year. But why ask Gestalt for help? It had to be a test._ But what kind of test?_ The light clicked on and Robert pushed the door open. Frau Blumen was standing there waiting for them, her short dark hair curled and peaking out from under a green cloche hat. Her large brown wool coat was belted at her thick waist and came all the way down to her calves. She_ tsked_ when she saw them, licked her thumb and reached out to smooth down Robert's hair.

"Oh, Robert," she softly admonished, "we have got to do something about that cowlick. With those eyes, you're gonna be," she sighed, "well, that hair will just be a tragic waste of a potential field asset if we can't tame it, is all I'm saying. Line up, my little ducks." She clapped her hands twice, and Gestalt took formation behind her.

As Gestalt marched silently behind Frau Blumen toward the Carriage House, they couldn't help but let their 8 blue eyes roam over her robust figure, heads tilting left and right. There was cat hair stuck to her backside, and _she was commenting on the state of Robert's hair?_ Gestalt let their thoughts wander to the fragments of memory their Mama had slipped to them, the man they were certain was their Papa... they could not remember actually meeting him, but would any of their bodies look like him?_ Would Eliza look like Mama?_ If so, they would be fine. Better than Frau Blumen, at least.

They paused as they reached the large, ornate fountain where the sidewalk path forked; one branch lead to Old Glengrove House, the Carriage House and Frau Blumen's own small cabin, one to the main campus, one toward the activities fields, and one, of course, lead back the way they came. Gestalt wanted to take time to look at the fountain, perhaps ask Frau Blumen for a coin to toss in and make a wish, but they only paused long enough for her to look back and make sure they were still following.

During their short time alone in the forest, they'd grown used to the way nature moved around them; the way the wind lifted the leaves and carried the soft voices of hikers passing through. The soft song of birds and the sounds of small animals. There were birds here, and squirrels and chipmunks. Gestalt caught sight of them sometimes when they were allowed outside to play; when they weren't being forced into rigorous training. Those moments were rare, though. It was endless noise and work here in Glengrove. Never silent, never still. They were always watched. Always expected to follow and obey.

As they approached the Carriage House, Frau Blumen pointed out a large glass door, directly across from her small cottage.

"This is the only entrance," she said. "There are a few other exits, for convenience. Monitored, of course, but this is the only way in. All visitors have to check in with the guard on duty." She walked up to the door and it slid open on it's own.

Gestalt's mouths fell open in wonder. _Magic_.

"It's automatic," Frau Blumen said, smiling at their wondrous expression. "Come on. Hello, Stephen." She said, waving at the desk guard. He waved back, not turning away from the bank of cameras on the wall in front of him.

The room was larger than Gestalt expected; certainly larger than one student needed. It wasn't square and colorful like the room they were used to. This room was long and narrow, with exposed brick along one of the largest walls. There were two small windows with bars inset. The solid walls were painted a plain white. There were two bunk beds, and one lofted bed with a desk underneath. There were also two smaller desks crammed in against the walls between the bunk beds, as well as trunks at the foot of each bed. There was a small security camera in the upper right corner of the room. Gestalt did not see a closet in the room.

"What do you think?" Frau Blumen asked.

Gestalt looked at her with perplexed expressions. This was an empty, but fully cleaned and prepared bunk room for several students, it seemed. Frau Blumen smiled at them slyly. _Ah, so this is a test_, Gestalt thought.

"When I was a child, I spoke as a child," Frau Blumen quoted, "I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things. It is time, Gestalt. Time for you to move on to your next level of training." She must have seen something in their eyes, some hesitation, some fear, because she quickly added, "You won't be here alone. I wasn't lying. There is a new arrival joining you. The boy you met a few weeks ago, Charlie. He's taking the fifth bed. He's never been alone, either. We thought it might be an easier transition for the both of you. While you get used to life at Glengrove."

"What do you mean? Childish things?" They asked, confused.

"It's time to move on," Frau Blumen said, matter of fact. "Stop with this foolish charade. You'll be separated eventually, of course. I told them there was no point in allowing you to indulge in this ridiculous fantasy a moment longer. It will only hurt you; but my superiors insisted we try this first. Of course, I think my way would be more effective-"

She continued to talk as Gestalt's mind began to spin. _Time to put away childish things. Separated._ The words echoed hollowly in Gestalts mind._ This woman is insane. Mama, how bad could Papa be? Mama, you did not prepare me for this_. The sound that began building in the back of Gestalt's throats had a will of it's own. It was low, at first, as all four moved towards the nearest trunk. They gripped the edges of the trunk, the cold metal biting into their small fingers as the tugged with all their strength. They wanted to throw the trunk at Frau Blumen, crush her under it's weight.

"Stop that, Gestalt." Frau Blumen chided, tugging their nearest body, Alex, away. Gestalt twisted in her arms, lashing out feverishly as their other three bodies attempted to throw the heavy trunk. They spared a look at their own faces, cheeks red from exertion, eyes glassy, hair disheveled. Alex screaming and kicking, the others almost growling. It was no surprise when two more people burst into the room to subdue them.

"Be careful with them," Frau Blumen shouted over their cries, "They're just having a little tantrum. You know how children are! They need a time out is all. Just a mild sedative should do the trick! Put them back in cabin 4 and let them have a good think! They'll see reason eventually."

Gestalt felt a small pinch in the back of their necks, and it wasn't long before all the fight drained out of them.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

**(Charlie Woodhouse)**

"So, what exactly is it you want me to do?" Charlie asked, sitting at the bank of computers in the technology wing of Glengrove House. They had allowed him to go with Priya and Ingrid to see her settled at St. Cammillus, but then Linda had picked him up and brought him straight to Glengrove. There were more students when he arrived this time, and they elbowed each other in the ribs and shared whispers. Charlie wasn't sure what the gossip would be by the time he was allowed to join the student body properly. For right now, he had his hands poised over a very nice custom PC running Linux. The Checquy did not play around. He had three people observing him right now, and he felt like this was an admissions test of some sort, even though he thought he was already in. Linda was standing right behind him while Steffi Blumen was off to the right, and a tall man with salt-and-pepper hair and an imposing demeanor, James Porter, was to his left.

"Well, why don't you tell us?" Linda said, smiling at him. "I've already told you the basics. We've had a student whose father also works here. We allowed a bit of extra freedom because of that, and it came back to bite us. We don't want to give you to much- we want to see what you can do. I've already told you most of the information he has leaked involves The Gestalt. Show us if and how you would plug the leak."

_Okay. Right._ Charlie stretched his fingers. He didn't really need to go through the motions with these people, but-

"Do you want me to do like... put on a show like I would in public? Or just, you know, get on with it?"

The smirk again.

"Whatever you'd like, Charlie."

"Right, then... I'm just, not going to bother with the show, then, if that's alright," Charlie said, pulling his hands away from the keyboard. It was really just a lot of nonsense, anyway. But it put people around him at their ease. Everyone around him right now was like him in some way, though. So he just stretched out with his power and let it connect to the Tech. Felt the spark of connection as he found his way into the worldwide web.

_What had she said he called them?_ Charlie thought back. _Quadruplet Hive Mind?_ That was it.

Charlie felt around for any thread of the phrase, picking up hits here and there on message boards and even finding a video that was very well buried. Someone from the Checquy had already been working on this. He picked up a thread and followed it back to an IP address to a small village not far from where they were; he reached his hand out.

"Pen and paper, please," he said to no one in particular. When someone handed him what he wanted, he jotted down the IP address quickly, then followed it to the next bit of information, the username on a message board. Then he followed it to a message to someone promising they were a cute girl. _A/S/L? What's your Name?_

"Oh, wow, this kid's an idiot." Charlie said, jotting the information down. "No offense." He added quickly. He pulled back from his search for a moment and turned the chair around to face Linda, holding the paper out to her.

"Alright, here's your guy," he said. "Christopher Bloom, 16, lives right around here, but you already knew all that because I can tell you've been poking around and hiding some of this stuff already."

"Very good," Linda said, looking pointedly at her two colleagues, who also looked impressed. "Correct, as well."

"Now, I'd say I could delete all of it, but, again, I can see you have done that and he has just put it back up-"

"Yes," Porter said, sounding bored. "He's ignored all of our warnings, and his father has been no help at all."

"I told you we should have killed him," Blumen said, sing-song.

"Steffi, no," Linda chided, "I've told you, the old ways are done. Sir Henry would be appalled to hear you say that."

"Oh, Linda, all it would take is a bit of Belladonna in the tea, and no one would ever know."

"I said no, Steffi."

That sealed it. Charlie was never accepting a cup of tea from Frau Blumen, no matter how appealing it looked.

"Anyway," Charlie cut in before they could discuss murdering anymore children. "I could create a sort of funnel for the information, so that he could upload as much as he liked, and no one would be able to find it unless they were looking for the exact criteria we set. So, the odds of anyone just stumbling upon it would be nearly impossible. They'd have to be looking for the specific location name, coupled with the organization name, EVA names, and so on, so they would have to already have multiple pieces of information in order to find the information."

"You think that you," Porter said, doubt clear in his voice, "Can create a digital labyrinth more complicated than anything any of our trained agents are capable of? What, right now?" He crossed his arms over his chest. _This guy just looks like a stuffy old professor,_ Charlie thought. _Tweed pants, worn cardigan with patched elbows? Really? Cliché._

"Well," Charlie said slowly, "I don't know that I can. But I can try. Worth a shot, at any rate."

"Okay," Porter said, shrugging. "Give it a try, kid."

"Steffi," Linda said sweetly, "Can you go get us some tea, please? It's been a long day."

"Actually," Charlie cut in, "Do you have anything in a bottle? Or a can? Unopened? I'm not really in the mood for a hot bevvy. Thanks."

"Sure, no problem, love," Frau Blumen said. "I need to check on The Gestalt and see how they're settling in, anyway. They had a bit of a tantrum earlier. I'm sure they've settled now, though. Told them they'd get to do some organization. Alphabetize. Color Code. They like that. Little neat freaks. After my own heart, they are. Cleanliness is next to godliness, you know."

Linda smiled tightly. Frau Blumen bustled out of the room. Charlie breathed a sigh of relief.

"Please tell me she isn't the computer sciences professor?"

"No," Porter said drolly, "I am."

_Oh, yeah, great. That's great, too_, Charlie thought, swallowing hard. _Another great first impression in the books, Charlie boy._

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

**(Ingrid Woodhouse)**

"Okay, one more, you've got this!" Althea said proudly as Ingrid pulled firmly on the yellow band, extending her right arm fully while she struggled to keep her core tight. It seemed deceptively easy, but the effort was enormous.

"Twenty!" Ingrid grunted victoriously, dropping the band.

"Good girl!" Althea cheered her on before grabbing the chair she was seated in and swiftly rotating her. "Now do twenty each on the other side, please." She squatted easily to retrieve the band Ingrid had dropped and handed it back to her, before moving away to the laptop she had on an odd standing/rolling desk that she used to take notes in the therapy room.

Ingrid took a deep breath, sucked in her navel best she could, and carried on. _1, 2, 3._

St. Cammillus was nothing at all like the hospital. It was a lot of work. Ingrid spent one to two hours a day working on strength, either in this room or in the pool, another hour being stretched, another hour on massage or electro-stim, then they would alternate cold therapy with heat therapy... then there was the talk therapy to make sure she didn't suffer any lasting trauma from the "event," and the testing to determine what she'd need to do to catch up in schoolin', and then there was the weekly standard medical testing. This place was the worst. But the people weren't so bad.

Althea was Ingrid's primary physical therapist; she was in her 40's, with straight, chin-length hair the color of wheat and the ruddy, weathered complexion of someone who spent long hours in the sun and salt-air. She had strong, callused hands and kind eyes. She supervised Ingrid's care overall, while Marcus helped her in the pool and Lisa helped with recovery. There were others who rotated in and out, but they were the three Ingrid saw most. Priya was always there, too, observing.  
  
"Don't mention anything about your EVA at St. Cammillus," she'd said on the way their. "They know you'll have tutors coming in and out for private lessons during your stay, but it's strictly need to know. I'll be observing, and I'll let Linda know if I think any of them are worth interviewing. We could certainly use a Retainer on staff here, this close to Glengrove, just in case. But until then, not a word."

As far as the staff at St. Cammillus knew, Ingrid was the daughter of an Ambassador who had been injured during a kidnapping attempt, and Priya was her bodyguard. _Stick as close to the truth as possible, and throw enough money at them to make them not look to closely at the places it don't line up_. Ingrid knew the first part well; she and Charlie'd never had enough funds to pull off the last bit. Their version usually went something like, disappear before they catch on. This version was a lot nicer; even if every muscle in her body felt like it was on fire right now.

"Althea, I'm finished!" Ingrid called, tossing the offending band to the ground as best she could.

"Alright, then," Althea said, coming up behind Ingrid and swooping her up in her arms. "Let's get you to the table, then."

_Oh, no. Not the table_, Ingrid groaned.

"Ah-ah," Althea chided, "Don't make that noise." She set Ingrid down on the therapy table so that she was lying flat on her back, then adjusted it so it was about waist high. Althea reached behind Ingrid's head and adjusted the pillow there.

"Comfortable?"

"Sure," Ingrid said, reaching up to brush the loose hair out of her face.

"Alright, then, give me your arm," Althea said as she unwound the blood pressure cuff from the monitor. Ingrid complied, and Althea quickly fastened the band around her upper left arm. She switched the monitor on and pressed a button, and the cuff began automatically tightening it's grip on Ingrid's bicep.

"Now, you know that's going to go the whole time we're doing this one, yeah?" Althea said out of habit as she moved around the foot of the table, placing a large foam wedge under Ingrid's legs first, so her knees and ankles were slightly lifted, then fastening a yoga strap around both of Ingrid's calves so they were fixed together.

"Okay," Althea said, holding on to the yoga strap loosely with her left hand and putting her right flat on Ingrid's belly, "What I want you to do is pull in your core, right here, like you're trying to pull your navel back into your spine, and we're going to try and lift up your legs just using your stomach muscles, okay? It doesn't have to be much, and I'm going to be right here with you the whole time. Let's try for thirty seconds. Ready?"

She looked at Ingrid for confirmation. Ingrid nodded.

"Okay. Go!"

Ingrid pulled in her stomach and lifted as hard as she could. All the while, she could feel the cuff on her arm moving.

"Good girl! There you go! And Relax!" Althea said, releasing her hold on the band and gently smoothing Ingrid's shirt. She grinned quickly at Ingrid, then checked the monitor.

"Did I move them? It didn't feel like I moved them." Ingrid said.

"Doesn't matter. It takes time. I could feel you working," Althea said, "That's what matters. You're a warrior, Ingrid!" She looked back from the monitor, pleased, and grabbed the yoga strap again. "Alright, I think we can go one more time. Ready?"

"Yeah," Ingrid said, a bit more confidently.

"Alright, go! Atta Girl, Ingrid!"

________________________________________________________________________________________________

By the time Ingrid was allowed to retire to her room for the evening, she was exhausted. Her arms were like a pair of useless noodles. The kitchen had served spaghetti for dinner, and Ingrid was certain they did it to mock her. Noodles for noodle-arms. Now she was sitting in her chair, thinking about another night alone with nothing but Paddington Bear for company, and she only wanted one thing.

"Please, Priya! It's Friday, and everything hurts, and all I want is to talk to Charlie before I go to bed tonight!" She put on her best pout.

Priya, who was sitting in an armchair in the corner of the room reading a book, glanced up.

"This is not something that can be negotiated by me, but I can check."

"That's all I ask," Ingrid said quickly, tucking her chin down into Paddington Bear's fuzzy neck and squeezing her arms around his middle.

"Mmm-hmm, sure." Priya said, removing her glasses, marking her place and setting her book aside. "I'll be back shortly."

A few minutes later, she popped her head back in the door and nodded for Ingrid to follow. She tossed Paddington onto the bed and wheeled out into the hallway after Priya. The phone was still sitting off it's cradle.

"They said they'd put him on with you for a few minutes," Priya said gently. "Only a few, though."

"Thank you, Priya!" Ingrid said, grabbing the phone and pressing it to her ear. After a solid minute of static, Charlie's warm voice came through the line.

"Ingrid?"

"Charlie!"

"Ingrid! Hey! How are you doing?"

"I'm doing good. How are you?"

"Good. Got a room to myself right now. That Gestalt I told you about, they, uh... something came up. They're going to try again next week. But this place is huge. Lonely without you. Miss you, Ing."

"Yeah, this place is, too. Miss you, too, Char," Ingrid said, trying not to get choked up. It had only been a few days.

"When will I see you again?" She asked.

"I dunno," he said. "They said soon, but I don't know what soon is, Ing."

"Can you try and find out?" There was a pause, and Ingrid wondered if he'd been disconnected for a moment.

"I'm doin' my best, Ing."

Priya put her hand on Ingrid's shoulder, motioning that it was time to wrap it up.

"Priya says I have to go, Char. I love you."

"I love you too, Ing. You sleep tight. Don't let the bed bugs bite n' all that."

The line clicked. Ingrid handed the phone back to Priya, who hung it up. She put her hand back on Ingrid's shoulder and squeezed.

"It won't be long, yeah? Come on now, let's get you to bed."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While everything else about her has been altered, Althea was named in honor of the PT who helped me. Much love.

**Author's Note:**

> Please sign the petition for season 2, and give a girl more source material to work with. 😊  
https://www.change.org/p/therookstarz-season-2-for-the-rook


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